A Brief Aside
by Azzandra
Summary: A series of drabbles.
1. Beauty

Amell looks into the mirror intently. The face that looks back is too familiar for her to be able to tell if it was pretty.

Symmetrical features. High cheekbones. Lips, rosy. Nose, inelegant. Eyes, a pleasing, but common color.

There had to be some method to establishing what is beautiful, she thinks, because otherwise there would not be so much of a consensus on the issue. She knew Acantha was considered quite beautiful. Petra was considered pretty. The mage Wynne had apparently been quite lovely in her youth, if rumor was to be believed.

She closes her eyes and opens them again, this time trying to look at her face as if she is seeing it for the first time.

If she looks long enough, she thinks, she will discover what about it makes Cullen blush and stutter.


	2. Scholarly Investigation

"But how would that work?" Amell asks, clearly befuddled by the notion. "Two women, I mean. How would they, um... You know?"

Leliana giggles, because the mage's expression is equal parts amusing and adorable.

"Come to my tent and I'll show you," Leliana replies, smiling invitingly and turns on her heels, leading the way.

Amell stares after the bard. She almost does not follow, thinking that surely there must be books on the subject that she could consult instead, but then, as she'd learned at the Tower, there is a world of difference between words on a page and practical application and sometimes writers didn't know their own asses from their hats and this is definitely one of those cases where practical application is more interesting than theory.

Yes, Amell decides. This certainly demands scholarly investigation.


	3. Bravery

Shianni thinks that for all his soft-spoken mien, Soris is too brave for his own good.

She thinks this because she is staring at a human woman and the woman is staring back with an odd mix of fierceness and timidity over Soris's shoulder. She thinks this because Soris is marrying this woman, this _shem_, and the mere concept takes some time to absorb because even if her brother chooses to ignore the speckled history between the humans and the denizens of the Alienage, others damn well won't and this will only end in trouble.

Cyrion turns his solemn gaze towards her and Shianni is well on her way to a cutting remark when she really looks at the woman, at her tense shoulders and tight lips; she looks like a wild animal or rather, a dog that has had more beatings than bones throughout its life, and the elf thinks she can recognize a certain harshness in her eyes, traces of the wounds that remain long after the body heals.

So Shianni sighs instead and chooses only to dryly inform Soris of the consequences, because he is like a very affable, and polite, but unmoving mountain when he makes certain decisions and she knows this is one of _those_ decisions that he will follow through regardless, like when he and their cousin came to save her.

Soris nods, smiles at his sister and thanks her for her concerns even as his hand drifts to that of his beloved's and the way she clenches it in return-- like the mere contact of skin provides refuge-- convinces Shianni of which side she will take in the ensuing scandal.


	4. On the Necessity of Structure

There is a curious expression: to have one's life come full circle.

Amell had been rather fond of linearity, herself. Life in the Circle Tower was served in tiny bite-sized pieces, little steps that took mages from day to day, from hour to hour. Lessons, structured neatly, homework in the library, whimsical conversations in the common room, because when life differed so little from person to person and moment to moment, once the common pool of experiences had been exhausted, there remained speculation to occupy the time (How would a second level Tevinter spirit binding work? Which classification of the Fade spirits was more accurate? What was First Enchanter Irving hiding under his beard? Were there dungeons under the Tower? Was the library truly haunted by the spirits of old apprentices, struck down in their youth by excessive homework?).

Then there was the Harrowing and a new sort of freedom, one that still includes the steely gazes of Templars at the back of one's head, but suddenly there were more books and more spells and there was still learning, but you chose what to learn, you followed the thread of your interest until you bored of it or it led to something else, more interesting. And sometimes, there were tasks outside the Tower and glimpses into a world hostile in completely new, unfamiliar ways.

Life was a simple, logical succession of events and Amell thoroughly approved of it. She had no choice over the circumstances surrounding her life, but she found this comforting. There was a sense that there was no opportunity for failure this way.

Even joining the Grey Wardens, disruptive to her plans as that had been, would entail following orders.

Yet, sitting here in Flemeth's hut, as the world spreads before her like a chasm and she is faced with choices (so many, so few, an infinity, not a one), she comes to a startling realization.

Life outside the Tower is_ very poorly organized!_


	5. Tension

The dreadful feeling that she was missing something nagged at her again. It had become commonplace since leaving the Tower, unfortunately, but as she tilted her head slightly and paid attention just a bit closer, she thought she grasped onto something, though she was not sure if it was truly there or simply imagining it. As the discussion about undead things and mages and Connor went on, however, Amell looked between Bann Teagan and Isolde and refrained from comments not pertaining to the task at hand.

Besides... perhaps it was simply Isolde's Orlesian accent that made Bann Teagan's name sound quite so langurous on her tongue and perhaps it was Bann Teagan's warm nature that made him seem like he was only inches away from embracing Isolde at any given moment.

It would be many months yet, however, before Amell would learn the concept of "sexual tension". As it were, she was now witnessing a fairly textbook demonstration of the subject.


	6. So It Goes

One day, many years after the Urn of Sacred Ashes had long since disappeared and fallen back into legend, an elderly Orlesian woman is set upon by bandits. She draws out a long dagger and kills three of them, but she is alone and not as nimble as she'd once been and surrounded by all sides and she curses them all out to the Maker as she is cut down.

The remaining bandits rifle through her effects and find a pair of discolored blue satin shoes, a bunch of dry flowers, a necklace with the holy symbol of Andraste, a set of lockpicks, a lute and a small container holding what appear to be ashes. There are only three coppers at the bottom of her bag.

They take everything regardless, but break the container and it empties on the ground.

The next spring, a sapling appears on that very place.

The next age, it grows into a grand oak. A young shepherdess stops there and naps under its boughs. She has dreams of a woman gently singing to her.

The next decade, the oak is cut down and a small chantry is built in its place; from its wood, the door to the chantry is made. It is a good door, solid and functional.

And time goes on.


	7. Caution

The great and brave Grey Warden is afraid of dogs.

She isn't afraid of her own dog, of course, because that would be silly.

But she supplies him with a great deal of bones anyway.

Just in case.


	8. The Clarion Call

She has only different shades of nightmares now and she thinks she's grown accustomed to them over the years. She knows them all intimately and all their permutations, because she has seen enough things to fuel them indefinitely; she is haunted at night by low, grisly laughter, by whispered poetry, by death, by gore and by fire. Her mind goes over the same standard scenarios (she is being torn apart by darkspawn; she is locked away at the Tower and the Templars don't even look at her; she is birthing abomination after abomination and from somewhere, Morrigan's voice is telling her what a good job she's doing; she is being possessed by demons and she is trapped in the Fade forever) and with great dilligence, it also produces new ones.

She has dreams that are less unsettling sometimes, but they come as a surprise every time and only make her feel a deep sense of loss, because what kind of person would she have to be, to grow so used to nightmares? How broken has her mind become to produce only horrors at night and how dark have her thoughts turned, for her to be used to this situation?

Yet the day comes when her nightmares change and her mind fills with a cloying sweetness in their wake, when her heart feels tugged by a call that resonates in her very blood. She feels how easy it would be to surrender to the nightmares for all eternity and simply let herself be washed away by this tide that has come upon her.

And on that day, she is faced with a decision, to either fight or surrender. She can fight now and find her peace, or surrender into peace and fight forever.

She is worried by the fact that the right choice is not immediatly apparent.


	9. Right

They find her phylactery on one of the Templars sent by Loghain (which is to say, on his cooling corpse; the Templars would not see reason, least of all from a mage).

Amell holds the phial delicately and stares deep into the blood, still as red as the day it was drawn, and she feels the gentle creep of nostalgia.

"This is it, then," Alistair comments. "Your leash."

Yes, Amell thinks. Her leash. And this is the first time she ever thinks of it as such, and not a simple necessity.

She is offended at the fact that she is not even an apostate and yet she is hunted down by Templars, but it feels like a petty quibble in the wake of all the other horrid things Loghain has done.

"You know, someone once asked me if I'd destroy my own phylactery," she says, her fingers curling around the phial and hiding it in her palm. "I said no, because it wouldn't be right. Well... Shows what I know," she adds with a sad smile and smashes the phylactery against the ground. She sets fire to the blood rapidly seeping into the earth as a precaution.

And she is angry because she _doesn't_ know anymore. She is so terribly angry with herself for doing all these things that she cannot justify being right, yet still feel they are. She is angry because this is all Jowan's fault, dammit, because he put her on this path, because he lied when she asked him if he was a blood mage and even after this betrayal, even after his amateur assassination attempt, she still thought of him as her best friend in the world, she still wanted him to live and-- that was selfish, wasn't it? To let such a dangerous person simply leave only because she was still stuck trusting and caring for him.

Still, she does not show this anger, choosing instead to smile and joke with Alistair.

She no longer trusts herself to know what is right. She only trusts herself to do what is necessary.


	10. Late For Supper

Amell does not clearly remember what act had brought her to the attention of the Chantry; she thinks she might have been showing off to some of her playmates, but she isn't sure what exactly she was doing. She thinks maybe it was something to do with fire, because children often go through a certain phase when they derive enjoyment from arson, but whatever it was, Templars come for her.

Her mother hides her in the haystack and tells her that it is a game, it is all just a game, and the rule is that the men in armor mustn't see her. She accepts this with great glee and watches the Templars as they enter the house and she is very happy, because they are yelling angrily and _isn't this fun, how they can't find me?_ They ask her mother over and over about her hiding place, but the woman denies knowing. Mother is _very good_ at this game.

But the men in armor exit the house again and call out for her in gentle, reassuring tones, but she isn't fooled and does not move from her hiding place. They have to _find_ her and asking her to just show herself is _cheating._

One of the men leaves for a short while and returns with a candied apple from the marketplace, promising it to her if she shows herself and it is only at that point that Amell decides the game must be over and since she's getting something sweet, she clearly must have won. She wiggles out of the itchy haystack and makes a beeline for the candied apple.

Mother is upset, of course, but Amell only hears a sharp cry before she is shepherded off by the man who gave her the apple. He promises to take her some place nice if she's a good girl and Amell feels a twinge of doubt at this. Will she be home by supper? Because mother always scolds her when she arrives late for supper.

The man in armor reasons that since she is already eating something, she can have supper late. Amell approves of this reasoning.

Ten years later, Amell passes the Tower kitchens and gets the vague impression that she is late somewhere.


	11. Destiny

Seven years pass before Sten sees the Warden again.

She has run into some minor problems with the Qunari authorities outside Rivain, yet by the time Sten arrives (following the rumor of a Fereldan woman with a large dog and hoping, but not really expecting, that it is her), she has talked herself neatly out of trouble. She turns around and seems ready to depart when she sees him as well.

It is easy to note all the different ways she remains unchanged and all the subtle differences. Her hair is much longer and her skin is tanned. Small wrinkles have appeared on her face, worry lines and crow's feet. She holds herself with more confidence than ever before and her hands are calloused. She is older and more mature, but she is still young by human standards and her nervous energy has turned into infectious vitality.

She travels still, he finds out eventually. She never truly stopped, after defeating the Archdemon, and she passes herself off as a wandering scholar wherever she can. She has new travelling companions, still as diverse and unlikely as her old ones (a Chasind woman; a boy from the Anderfels; an exiled Tevinter mage; an old sailor; a dwarf outlaw). Sten remembers a time when he thought she had missed her destiny and while he still remembers the regret that she had not been born Qunari, or at least male, he thinks that regret was misplaced, because she has found her destiny and she is living it _now_.

She enjoys doing this, wandering from place to place and helping those weaker than herself or otherwise in need, and she is quite adept at it, as well. It is a strange life for a strange woman, but fitting all the same.

Twenty years pass before Sten sees the Warden again.


End file.
